


Research of an Unusual Sort

by YumYumPM



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1253947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon disappears and the UNCLE thinks him dead, in actuality he ends up being used for research of an unusual type.  Illya has a connection with Napoleon but will need help to find him. </p><p>Originally published in Relative Secrecy <br/>revised</p><p>My apologies to Dorothy Gilman whose character Madam Karitska I have purloined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Research of an Unusual Sort

Act: 1

The two agents wearily exited the airport terminal making their way toward the parking garage to collect Napoleon’s car. 

“Napoleon!” Illya griped exasperatedly. “You’ve done it again. Why must you make two dates for the same night?”

Napoleon looked over at his partner before tossing his suitcase into the backseat. “I don’t know what you mean? I made a date with Suzie for tonight and a date with Carol for the fifteenth,” he replied smoothly before sliding into the front seat.

“Today is the fifteenth,” Illya pointed out as he too put his luggage in the backseat of the car and slipped into the seat on the passenger side.

“Oh, are you sure?” Napoleon sounded slightly worried. 

“We gained a day.” 

“Oops, I don’t suppose…?” Napoleon asked as he started the motor.

“No, all I want to do is go home and sleep,” Illya insisted as he leaned back and crossed his arms, his eyes drooping. There was no way he was letting Napoleon talk him into double dating. It was never fun watching Napoleon monopolize one woman, much less two.

With a sigh Napoleon decided it just wasn’t his day.

They entered headquarters with the intention of giving Mr. Waverly their final report before heading home. The receptionist gave Napoleon a sly smile as she attached his badge to his suit before handing him fifteen messages. Illya took his badge from her and put it on himself, amused by the sheer number of messages his partner had accumulated in the two days they'd been gone.

Once they were settled in Waverly's office, Napoleon surreptitiously looked over them while his partner gave their report. He just barely managed to avoid grimacing. It appeared he not only had dates with Suzie, and Carol, but also with Audrey, Theresa, and Roberta.

“Mr. Solo, I'm afraid there won’t be time for you to rest. I have something that only you can handle. You’ll have to leave right away, of course,” stated Mr. Waverly.

Napoleon looked up from his messages, thinking that this could be the answer to his dilemma. Working could be just the excuse he needed. “No problem, sir.”

“Should I accompany Mr. Solo?” Illya asked.

“That should not be necessary,” Mr. Waverly said. “I doubt this matter will require the expertise of two agents. I have every confidence Mr. Solo can manage a simple assignment on his own.” He sent a folder around the revolving table to stop in front of Napoleon before dismissing both agents. 

Napoleon picked up the folder and was leafing through it as he left the office. The more he thought about it he was sure that this was the perfect solution to his problem. He stopped at a nearby desk to use a phone and was dialing as Illya stopped next to him to ask, “Are you sure you won’t need me?”

“Sure, from what I can tell it’s a piece of cake. Hello, Suzie? Honey, I’m so sorry, but something important has come up and I won’t be able to make it tonight.”

Illya smiled as he walked away. 

Act II

Illya entered headquarters through the agents’ entrance as he did most days, his mind on one of his experiments with which he had a problem. He didn’t notice the look of pity on the receptionist’s face as she gave him his badge. He wasn’t paying attention to the fact that everyone seemed to be avoiding him either. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. There was really only one person whose opinion of him he cared about. With his mind on the lab problem, even that person was the last thing on his mind.

He was so completely caught up in his work that sound of his partner saying, “I wish you were here, Illya.” caught him by surprise. 

"I am here," he informed him without looking up. When he received no response he looked up, Napoleon was nowhere to be seen. He got up and went to the door to look down the hall. No Napoleon. He could have sworn he heard his voice. Strangely it was the wistful quality of his partner's voice that puzzled him. He would have to find out what that was all about, but later. Perhaps at lunch. In the meantime he shrugged it off and went back to work.

An hour later, he received a request to go up to Mr. Waverly’s office. This in itself wasn't unusual, except that upon his arrival he found that Mr. Waverly seemed...flustered. This was remarkable enough that he blinked before moving to sit down in his regular chair and wait. 

“Mr. Kuryakin….” 

“Yes, sir?” 

“I have something….ah…” Waverly was having trouble getting his thoughts together. Something that never happened. Sure he sometimes forgot who he was talking to at the moment, but he was never at a loss for words. Perhaps it was because he did not like playing games. Get yourself together, man, he thought. He braced himself. “Mr. Kuryakin, you will leave here in twenty minutes to deliver a certain box to our headquarters in India. They are expecting you.” It wasn’t true, any of it. He passed over a box from his desk; he wasn’t even sure what was in the box, but it would suffice. He had to get Kuryakin out of headquarters and out of New York before he found out. 

Illya was puzzled but didn’t question the assignment, after all Mr. Waverly was the boss. He knew best. He picked up the box and left while Mr. Waverly hurriedly contacted the transportation section to get everything together for Mr. Kuryakin’s trip to India. How he would explain it to the budget department was another question altogether.

Mark Slate happened across Illya just as he was preparing to leave. Not quite sure how to approach the subject he said somberly. “I’m really sorry, mate.” 

“Sorry? About what?” Illya asked in surprise.

Mark blanched. Was it possible Illya hadn’t heard? “Oh, nothing, forget I said anything. Just where are you off to?”

“Mr. Waverly wants me in India,” Illya said with a shrug.

“Oh, yes. Of course. Ah well, I’ll see you later?” Mark seemed rather in a hurry to get away.

Puzzled, Illya turned back to watch Mark’s hurriedly retreating figure, then he looked down at the box in his hand. He shrugged, nothing was making any sense, but his was not to reason why. 

 

Act III

Napoleon woke up. He wasn’t sure where he was, but he knew it wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He remembered arriving at his destination - then nothing. He took in his surroundings. He was lying on a bed in a fairly luxurious room. The bed was a four-poster with Toile fabric at each corner. It was a room fit for a king, and he had no idea of how he got there. He checked his person. Not surprisingly, his gun was missing, as well as all the other nefarious devices he normally carried. There seemed to be a jeweled collar around his neck, though. What was it for? He sat on the side of the bed and tried without success to get it off.

Then he decided to investigate. He wasn't surprised to find that the door was locked. Moving to the window, he found that too was secured against his escape. He looked out, hoping that something would look familiar. Below he spotted a large swimming pool, with a number of young women lounging around in very skimpy swimsuits. That alone had him thinking that wherever he was wasn’t all bad. 

The sudden click of the lock being turned had him turning and reaching for a gun he didn’t have. In the doorway stood an elderly lady dressed all in black. “Welcome, Mr. Solo. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here.”

Napoleon put on his charming smile. “I’m sure I will. Exactly where is here?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’m not allowed to say,” the lady said apologetically.

“You appear to know my name – am I allowed to know yours?”

“But of course. I am Madame Duvay,” she said with a smile.

One point for our side, Napoleon thought. “And why am I here?”

“You must be hungry. You'll be happy to know that dinner is being served shortly. I hope you don’t mind but dress is formal. You should find adequate clothing in the closet. I shall be back for you momentarily,” was the only answer he got before she gave a gracious bow of her head and left the room. The sound of the turn of the key in the lock was enough to let him know that he was to be on a short leash. 

Checking the closet he was surprised to find it full of clothing and all in his side. Most puzzling. Just how long were they planning to keep him captive.

Later as he walked down the majestic stairway with Madame Duvay, he felt like a kid in a candy store. At the bottom of the staircase were several groups of women, milling about. All were beautiful and elegantly attired, from the exotic to the stylish. They were of all heights, petite to statuesque and included a mixture of races as well, from Norwegian blondes to Asian's with long black hair to striking redheads. There were a variety of feminine delight of which he heartily approved.

A gong sounded and he found himself escorted by two of the most stunning as they proceeded into what could only be called a banquet hall. The table, large enough to seat everyone, was lavishly set with fine china and crystal. As he made his way toward the table many of the women glanced in his direction, his ego pumped by their sultry gazes full of admiration.

The food was delicious, the wine superb, the company fascinating, and the conversation trivial. Every time he tried to find out where he was or why he was there the subject would be changed or totally ignored. Seeing that he wasn't getting anywhere, he eventually gave up and decided just to enjoy the evening.

All in all, it had been a long day, and an even longer evening. The elaborate dinner, with its many courses, had lasted several hours and he was more than ready to go upstairs to the bed that awaited him and sleep. Maybe when he woke up things would be clearer. He was personally escorted to his room by two young lovelies and given a kiss by each. With a satisfied smile he entered to find two Japanese geishas in attendance. They both bowed and reached for his jacket. On the bed was laid out a pair of silk pajamas.   
“Ladies, I can undress myself,” he protested when they both took up removing his garments. With much giggling they finished undressing him and, to his embarrassment, pulled him into the bathroom. The tub was sunken and the size of a small swimming pool, filled to the brim with bubbles. They encouraged him to get in, and then, to his astonishment, they stepped back and each removed their kimonos. After slipping into the tub to join him, they both picked up sponges and proceeded to make sure he was perfectly clean. When their touches got personal, Solo wasn’t sure what was going on, but it didn’t stop him from enjoying it.

When he finally did get to sleep, he slept the sleep of the totally exhausted. The next day followed the same pattern as the first. Napoleon was perplexed; so far no one had tried to interrogate him and he had freedom of movement to a certain point. He had tried to find a means of escape, though he wasn’t sure at this point why he wanted to. Unfortunately, it appeared the collar he was wearing was there to ensure that he didn’t leave. 

One morning he’d gotten up early and gone to the pool area. After a thorough search of the vicinity he found a pathway and followed it until he arrived at a gateway. Surprisingly the gate was not locked, but when he tried to exit the estate the collar around his neck gave off a hellish shock. 

When he regained consciousness he was back in bed, with two gorgeous and nude blondes who were doing their best to keep his mind off of any further escape attempts. Hours later, he stood by the window and looked out. Could he help it if he found women roaming around in various states of undress distracting? He wasn’t like Illya, able to ignore his libido. “I wish you were here, Illya,” he said wistfully. He didn’t think he’d be able to get away without the help of the wily Russian.

The days passed and he soon lost track of time. His days ran into nights and with it the number of females that entered his room. They came to him, no matter where he was, in twos and threes and sometimes even fours. He found himself making love to so many women in so many ways he eventually lost count. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered why no one had come to rescue him, but then his libido would get in the way and he would wonder why he wanted to be rescued. He felt that he was on the verge of losing his mind and the only thing that kept him sane was a name: Illya.

He finally had enough! There had to be a reason for his being held captive. A cage was still a cage even if it was a gilded one. He refused to participate in whatever nefarious scheme his captors had in mind. He said no more, no more women, no more wine, no more sex. After all there were more important things in life than sex. Right? Now if he could only believe that.

 

He was half asleep the next time someone entered his room. This time it was only one woman; she was slight of build with short blonde hair, and ice blue eyes. He had told himself he wouldn’t touch another woman until he found out what was going on. He got out of his bed with the full intention of throwing her out, but something about those eyes…he found himself drowning in them. They reminded him of someone else’s...Illya’s eyes. She dropped her robe began peppering his face with kisses. For some reason for the first time in his life he considered what it would feel like to touch his partner in a manner that was decidedly unprofessional and before he knew it, his mind had replaced the girl in front of him with visions of a certain Russian and he pulled her close. His hands slid down her back to her rounded ass cheeks and before he knew it he was doing to her what he had never imagined being able to do with Illya and enjoying the hell out of it. When she finally left, he was peacefully sleeping with a satisfied smile on his face.

 

Act IV

Illya's arrival in India with his package was anticlimactic at best. The receptionist took it, eyeing it curiously and then gave him a packet along with instructions directing him to leave for Denmark. Once he got there he had the distinct feeling something was rotten in Denmark. When they too gave him a packet and then directed him to leave for Paris, he was sure of it. When he arrived in Paris, a city with which he was well acquainted, he was informed he was on leave for seven days. He thought about taking it and some instinct had him immediately get the next plane out to New York.

He slept intermittently on the plane, his dreams not making any sense. Without bothering to collect his luggage he went straight to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters and tracked down the one person he was sure could assist him – Mark Slate.

“Okay, Mark, what’s going on?” Illya demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mark wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Mark!” Illya said in a dangerous tone. “Okay then, where’s Napoleon?” Maybe Napoleon would tell him what was going on.

There was silence, then Mark confessed, “He’s gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“They found his body…or what was left of it.”

“Where? When?”

“The day you left for India.”

Illya felt a chill go through him. That was the day he distinctly remembered hearing Napoleon’s voice. He turned without a word and made his way to his office. This was something they always knew could happen, but he’d never expected it to happen to Napoleon. Mr. Waverly was informed that he was back and sent word that he should go home. Seeing that he had nothing worthwhile to do at headquarters, he gave in and did as he was told. He went home to dream…and such a strange dream. He toss and turned as lips touched his, the kisses, the nips. Napoleon’s hands touching him, caressing him, doing things to him that he'd never done before and he awoke with a start. It had seemed so real. Surely he was going insane.

Act V

Somehow deep down he knew that Napoleon was not dead. Illya wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he knew he had to do something. He couldn’t go on this way. After a sleepless night, he went to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters and pulled Napoleon’s last file. He sat there, taking in all the information only to find that there wasn’t much. Then it happened again. He was awake, in his office, and the feeling of being touched returned - ever so erotic - so sensual. His breathing grew raspy and he moaned with disappointment when the sensation stopped and it was over. Blinking, he heard a buzzing sound and realized someone was trying to get his attention over his intercom.

“Kuryakin here,” he gasped.

“Mr. Kuryakin.” It was Mr. Waverly. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past ten minutes.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I haven’t been feeling well lately.” That was an understatement.

“Humph...I suppose that's quite understandable under the circumstances. Perhaps you should report to the medical section,” Waverly suggested. 

Illya thought about that and realized the last thing he wanted was to tell anyone in medical what had just occurred. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary, sir. Perhaps if I just took a few days off?”

“Of course. You do that.” Waverly agreed. "In fact I was about to suggest that very thing."

Illya switched off the intercom, surprised at how solicitous Mr. Waverly was being. He finished up some paper work, then left the office, not sure of where he was going.

Act VI

She stepped on the bus and paid her fare, then moved toward her usual seat when it hit her. The waves of pain, the anguish. She looked around and spotted the slightly built young man with blond hair from whom those feeling were emulating sitting morosely and staring out the window. The cut of his hair reminded her of that new group from England. The beetles? Beatles. On instinct she changed direction and sat next to him.

Illya, out of the corner of his eye, caught sight of a tall, slender woman of about fifty just as she sat down beside him. Her garments, while not new, spoke of former wealth and that made her presence on a bus all the more unusual. That along with her regale carriage had him wondering what such a woman would be doing on a bus, when a limo would have been more appropriate.

“ZdrAvstvuyte! KAk delA? How do you do?” she asked in a no nonsense voice. “My name is Countess Marina Elena Provotchniche Gaylord Von Domm Karistka.” Then she handed him her card, which read Madame Karitska – Readings.

“Illya Kuryakin,” he answered though he wasn’t sure why. The last time he'd spoken to a stranger on a bus had earned him a trip to England along with a stay in a dungeon-of-sorts.

“Perhaps I can be of service to you?” she inquired.

He considered. “I think not.”

She looked at him, her gaze intense. “Come,” she insisted and got off the bus at the next stop.

He wasn't sure why, but something compelled him to follow her. They left the bus and walked a couple of blocks to an apartment building, not in the best part of town. One part of Illya’s mind told him he shouldn’t be doing this, she could be a Thrush agent, the other part said that at this point he had nothing to lose.

She opened her apartment door and, ordering her guest to make himself comfortable, set about making tea. She brought it out with a jar of jam and watched as he fixed his tea with shaking hands. Nothing was said and when he finally set the cup down, she took his hand and opened it, running her hand along the palm and closed her eyes. Her eyes opened wide. “Ah, I see danger…much danger. You are a spy,” she said delightedly.

Illya looked sharply at her. “I shouldn’t be here.” He got up to leave.

“Stay,” she commanded. 

He was without a doubt irritated at being ordered around like a dog, but in the end he did as he was told.

She took his hand once again and after a few minutes looked at him intently. “I see a man, handsome, not too tall, dark hair. You are close...friends?" Her gaze was thoughtful. "Do you have by chance something of his?” 

Illya shook his head no.

She shrugged and closed her eyes focusing on the emanations she was receiving through him. “He’s lost. He misses you.” Opening her eyes and with urgency voiced, “You must find him…he needs you.”

“How?”

Madam Karitska got out her map of New York, spreading it out upon the coffee table, then she retrieved her talisman and took hold of Illya’s hand. “Concentrate,” she demanded as she held the talisman over the map. 

The talisman wavered before finally coming to rest on a spot on the map. “There. That is where you will find him.”

It was a long shot, but it was the only thing he had. He went for his wallet to pay her. But she stayed his hand.

“This is not for payment. It is because you are like me, I think. You see things; you may not realize it, but you do. Do you have gypsy blood?” she asked before waving it aside. “No matter. The important thing is you and he are connected. He is part of you and you are part of him.” She looked at him speculatively. “You did not know that? Ah, you will find out soon enough.” She let him out the door with a knowing smile.

Act VII

The blonde woman was wearing nothing but a robe as she entered the room that contained the recording equipment and sat down, exhausted. Her whole appearance was radiant.

“I can’t believe it. I thought for sure the other day that we’d have to do away with him.”

Madam Duvay agreed with her. “I was sure we’d have to find another specimen to continue this experiment.”

“He was so…unbelievable. I have never felt like that before.” Her head went back and her eyes closed as she remembered the encounter. “It was amazing. We did things that I didn’t even know were possible. I never felt so sensual before.”

They looked at the monitor, at the man lying with abandon on the bed, a sated and satisfied look on his sleeping face.

“It’s hard to believe,” the blond woman stated. “That this man could romance so many women and think he could get away with it.”

“That’s true. But I think we have evened the odds just a little.” Madam Duvay said with an evil smile, just before they fell over unconscious.

 

Dressed all in black, the better to blend into the night, Illya waited several minutes before removing his gas mask. 

'Napoleon was alive' Illya thought as he'd hurried down the steps into Del Floria's earlier that day. With a nod to the man behind the pressing machine he entered the middle booth and from there into U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. Trying to act normal, he'd hurried to the room where all the maps were kept and pulled out the one that matched the coordinates he'd memorized. His brow had gone up in surprise as he realized that Napoleon was being held on an estate in Long Island. Calling in a few favors, he managed to get a detailed look at what he would be up against. The research section was a fount of information and he’d put together a plan and confiscated several special items from the U.N.C.L.E. armory before heading out. Now looking around at all the fallen bodies, he still had no idea just what his partner had gotten himself into.

Quietly going up the main stairway, he searched each room until he came to the room where Napoleon lay naked, spread out fast asleep. Going over, he hissed, "Napoleon. Napoleon." When he that brought no results, he slapped him lightly on each cheek.

Napoleon came to with a start and thought he must be dreaming. 

“Illya!” he exclaimed in delight. “Is it really you?” He reached out to touch him, sure he would fade away.

“It’s me all right. Come on let's get out of here.”

As Napoleon hurriedly pulled on some clothing, Illya moved to one corner of the room and pulled out his communicator. Taking a deep breath, he wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, he twisted the top and spoke, “Open channel D.”

“Channel D open.” 

“Kuryakin here.”

“Mr. Kuryakin, where are you?” The connection had changed and he had been patched directly to Mr. Waverly. “You are supposed to be on vacation.”

“Sir, I’ve located Mr. Solo.”

"Mr. Solo!" Illya could imagine Waverly's brows going up in surprise. Then there was silence on the line. “Activate your homing beacon. Someone should be there shortly.”

“I’d rather we didn’t stay, sir. The occupants could be coming to at any minute.” This wasn’t necessarily true, the gas he’d appropriated should last at least another hour, but he had come alone without official approval and wanted to get away from there as soon as possible.

“Very well.” A sigh could be heard over the line. “We have a fix on your location.” Then the connection was abruptly cut.

Illya switched off his communicator as Napoleon came up beside him, adjusting his jacket. “How did you find me?’

Illya didn’t really want to answer that. “Let’s just get out of here first, okay?”

“Shouldn’t we check out the place?”

“Some one will be here shortly to do that. Let’s just go.” A small voice in Illya’s head kept telling him they needed to leave now.

In the car on their way back to headquarters Napoleon regaled his partner with everything that had taken place since he last saw him. He still didn’t understand the reasoning behind the whole thing.

“And you have no idea why or what they wanted with you?” Illya asked.

“Not the slightest,” replied Napoleon. “But what a way to go.”

Illya glanced at his partner. “Maybe I shouldn’t have rescued you.”

“Don’t get me wrong, but sometimes too much of a good thing is too much. I was more than ready to be rescued.”

Illya’s eyebrows went up. “Are you sure you’re my partner?”

Napoleon laughed. He turned to gaze out the window on his side of the car, trying to get his thoughts together. “Would you mind if we just went back to my apartment? I’m not quite ready to face Waverly yet.”

Illya was very quiet, not sure how much he should tell Napoleon about how he had managed to find him. Not sure that Napoleon would believe him if he told him. When they got to Napoleon’s apartment, he watched Napoleon get out and made to drive off. However Napoleon was having none of that and insisted that Illya come up.

"Make yourself at home," Napoleon requested as he headed for the shower; for some reason he felt dirty after all he’d been through and needing to use the time to get his thoughts together. Soon he would have to contact Mr. Waverly, that was a given. How embarrassing to have to explain exactly what he'd been up to while captured. Waverly would undoubtedly question his sanity. In which case he’d have to deal with both physical and mental checkups.

Coming into the living room he was glad to see that Illya was still there. Illya had been awfully quiet, almost uncomfortable in Napoleon's presence and he hadn't been sure his partner might not slip away while he was cleaning up. There was so much he needed to tell him, so much he needed to share. 

“Illya,” he began. “There is something I think you should know.” He found he couldn’t look Illya in the face and turned away. “While I was…gone…I found myself wanting to…do things…to you,” he said slowly. He bit his lip and closed his eyes - remembering and smiled. 

“What sort of things?” Illya asked quietly as he came close behind Napoleon. So close that Napoleon could feel Illya’s hot breath on his neck. Was it possible that Napoleon was beginning to feel the same way as he felt? Much to his surprise he felt his lower extremity starting to get hard all the while his feelings were churning and his breathing was becoming difficult.

“Was it like this?” Illya asked softly as he turned the American around and brought their lips together. Softly at first the kiss soon turned urgent and they were both breathing hard. He found his hand tangling in Napoleon's hair as he deepened the kiss and smashed their bodies together. Eventually they broke apart and Illya took Napoleon by the hand and headed for the bedroom to see if reality matched his imagination.

The reality not only matched his dream, but exceeded it. Napoleon was indeed a wonderful lover but while lying there in the aftermath, both men began to wonder what it possibly was that had come over them even as they found themselves not really caring. Never in his various sexual encounters had he found himself so turned on. Slowly they started all over again, this time exploring each other's body and taking their time doing it. No words were spoken, none seemed necessary, they each seemed to know what the other wanted and needed without speaking.

Act VIII

When they finally made it back to headquarters, the two men filed their reports and were informed that the cleanup team, after going over the confiscated equipment, had come to the conclusion that Napoleon had been the subject of a highly unorthodox experiment. Madame Duvay and her cronies had been doing research on over-sexed males, along with a long list of men, and that Solo was the only survivor. 

Another unusual thing that had developed was the fact both men were responding to questions that hadn’t yet been asked and people were starting to notice. While neither man understood the significance of it, Illya decided it was time to visit Madam Karitska in the hopes that she could clear up the mystery. So with Napoleon tagging along they set out for her apartment.

Madame Karitska wasn't really surprised when she answered her door to find the blond man from the bus and a dark haired man, whom she recognized immediately, waiting. 

“Ah, Illyusha, is this the friend that needed saving? Come in. I will have tea ready in just a minute,” she said delightedly.

Illyusha ? Napoleon thought with amusement.

Be nice, Illya thought back. “This is my partner Napoleon Solo. Napoleon, this is Madame Karitska.”

Napoleon reached over to take Madame Karitska’s hand and gallantly placed a kiss on her fingertips. “Enchantee, Madame,” he murmured.

“Do come in and sit down,” she offered as she ushered them in. Having finally met the dark haired man of her vision, something told her that he would probably prefer coffee to tea unlike his...partner? The two men were so different, like night and day, yet they seemed to complement each other. She had a little test in mind that she wanted to use and felt that it would shed some light on a few things.

While she went to the kitchen to get the tea and coffee, Napoleon turned to Illya. “Just how long have you two known each other?” he asked. His gaze took in the room, which was uniquely furnished, before turning to the bookcase. He went to see what it held. It was full of books from all over the world and reminded him of all the books that Illya had in his apartment. 

Madame Karitska came back. “I have American Coffee and Turkish Coffee. Which would you prefer?” she asked.

“Turkish please,” Napoleon said absently as he pulled out an interesting book he’d found.

“An adventurous soul. I approve,” she stated as she sat down to serve the tea. “Now why are you here?”

“It’s really nothing,” Illya started to say. “It’s just that…”

“We tend to answer questions…” Napoleon went on.

“That haven’t been asked…” Illya continued.

“Out loud that is,” Napoleon finished.

Madame Karitska found herself looking from one to the other as if watching a ping-pong match. 

“People are beginning to notice,” Illya stated ruefully.

“That should not be happening…unless?” Madame Karitska scrutinized the two men closely.

I wonder what she would do if I kissed you. Napoleon thought.

Napoleon!!! Illya thought back.

Napoleon went to sit down next to Illya and put his arm possessively across the back of the sofa, more or less daring her to say something.

So that is how it is, she thought calmly. “Come, let me show you a book you might find interesting.”

She took Napoleon to a desk at the far corner of the room and introduced him to a book on clairvoyant abilities. Then she went back to the sofa to sit next to Illya. “He is a bit of a rogue, that one,” she stated.

Illya put down his cup and sighed. “Yes, I know.”

“You can hear him, yes? And he you? That could be problematical.”

Illya nodded.

“I should like to run a little experiment. Concentrate. Something very naughty,” she ordered.

Illya concentrated and they both watched as Napoleon looked up and lifted an eyebrow to leer at Illya.

“I wonder…” Madame Karitska said as she looked speculatively at Illya.

“You did say something naughty,” Illya responded apologetically.

“Yes, I did didn’t I.” She looked over at Napoleon again. “I would suppose he isn’t as well versed in languages as you? How is his Russian?”

Illya had given up wondering how she knew these things. “It’s passable.”

“Hmmm, his Ukrainian? Think to him in Ukrainian.”

Illya sent out a message in his native language. They watched as Napoleon looked up and scowled, clearly not able to understand.

“I think that should help somewhat.” 

“It isn’t nice to talk about people behind their backs,” Napoleon said softly as he came up behind them.

Madame Karitska looked up at him speculatively. “You are right. I would like you both to stay for dinner. Would you mind picking something up at the deli on the corner.” She went for her purse. “They know me.”

Napoleon refused to take her money and left the apartment to get the meal.

She turned to Illya. “You care for him very much.” It wasn’t a question. “He will only hurt you, you know,” she said disapprovingly.

“Yes, I know.” Illya sighed.

“I would not like to see that happen,” Madame Karitska said.

“I’m not looking forward to it either,” Illya said warily.

At that point, Napoleon returned with the meal. “My ears were burning,” he said, a polite way of letting them know he was aware of what had been said, as they sat down at the small table in the living room to eat.

“It was nothing serious,” Madame Karitska stated. “You will now please state your intentions.” 

“Madame, please!” Illya pleaded.

Napoleon stopped in the middle of bringing a fork to his mouth. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean you are something of a lady’s man, no? What will you do when the next woman comes along?” she demanded.

Napoleon winced, then started chewing while he deliberated. It was true he liked woman. He hadn’t thought about how his womanizing would affect his partner. He glanced at him, noticing how distressed he looked. Glancing down at his plate he set his fork aside. Slowly and with careful consideration he said, “I’m not sure there will be any more women.”

Madame Karitska looked pleased. Illya looked shocked.

Napoleon reached over and took Illya’s hand. Illya tried to pull away but Napoleon held on tight. “Illya, I’m only going to say this once and in front of a witness.” He paused to take a deep breath. “I would not care to hurt you for anything in this world. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but you’re the best thing in my life and I don’t want to screw it up.” Screw you maybe, he thought and was delighted to see Illya blush.

“Napoleon, there is no need to make promises you cannot keep,” Illya said as he finally managed to pull his hand away.

“It’s not a promise. It’s how I feel.”

I wish I could believe you, Illya thought sadly.

Believe, Napoleon thought back.

Illya looked over to Madame Karitska, who shrugged. “He sounds sincere to me. If not I can always put a curse on him.” Her eyes twinkled.

Napoleon who had been taking a drink from his glass, spit out his wine as the two people across from him laughed.

The End


End file.
